


turned tables

by trashcanne



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Injury, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Original Fiction, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26595880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcanne/pseuds/trashcanne
Summary: In reality, you never fully hit the ground.Written for my A-Level English Language Exam





	turned tables

**Author's Note:**

> this piece has fairly graphic descriptions of physical abuse, i would not recommend you read this if you are sensitive to such subjects!!  
> tbf this is me just projecting again, sorry lads  
> any feedback/constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!! ive been in a slump for a year or so now and im trying to get back into writing again xoxo

People talk about heartbreak in some kind of way that suggests one has taken a mallet to the heart; crushed, shattered, into thousands of tiny fragments, fading away like dust in the wind. Not to me, though.

If only it were that easy.

They feed me - no, _stuff me_ \- full of these damned cliche oh-so-inspirational quotes like: "we generate fears while we sit, and overcome them by action", or "it's not about getting knocked down, it's about getting back up again." Cue the eye-roll.

In reality, you never fully hit the ground.

_I can still hear his footsteps. Slow and heavy as they draw nearer and nearer to the bedroom. I can still hear the ominous creak of the door that comes before the few, excruciatingly long moments of deafening silence - where I can feel his eyes boring into my skin beneath the sanctuary of the blankets on the bed. I can still smell the pungent stench of alcohol on his breath as he leans over me, ready to pounce the second I show any sign of wakefulness._

_And then it begins._

_A painful yank of my hair ripping a shriek from the back of my throat, one that quickly dies down to a soft whimper in a desperate attempt to placate the seemingly wild animal gnashing its teeth beside me, snarling and growling in a rage I couldn't describe._

_At times like this, I simply allow my mind to drift, far away from anywhere I've ever known, where a gentle breeze dances elegantly through the towering pine trees. They gracefully sway along to the rhythm of nature, harmonising with the flapping of the swallows' wings and the humble trickling of the freshwater stream. Blackbirds hop around within the tall blades of grass, bright, beady eyes inspecting the landscape, waiting for the opportunity to escape unscathed by the latest predator._

I think about these things as I sit, hidden beneath the protective branches of a weeping willow, the wind caressing its soft fingers through the knotty strands of my short curls. I shiver slightly, tightening my jumper-clad arms around my knees. Despite the chill, I am warmed by the content feeling in my heart, the relief of finally being free at last.

If only it were that easy.

A slight rustle in the leaves pulls me from my reverie. My head snaps up, and my chest tightens for a fraction of a second before a mop of unruly curls pops into view.  
"Michael." I breathe out in relief, tears welling up as I attempt a cheerful smile. Something about the look on his face diminishes any hope that I had succeeded in the slightest.

"Hey." He returns gently, carefully moving to sit beside me. We lapse into a somewhat comfortable silence, my head resting on his shoulder as I continue to breathe deeply: _in, out, in, out-_

"So…what happened?"

I take one last deep breath.

"You know what happened." I bite out, harsher than intended, finally meeting his eyes, expecting to find annoyance. But all I see is...concern?

Sighing, I entwine my trembling hand with his, lightly squeezing it in apology, feeling myself relax as I catch his lips tilt up slightly out of the corner of my eye. I also notice how it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"I…I don't know what to say, I'm sorry..." I look up at him. He's not looking back. 

Michael shifts a little, until he's fully pressed against my side. And then we sink back into a deafening, considerably less comfortable silence. 

The tendrils of anxiety begin to snatch at me as memories come flooding back to me, memories of what he had done.

Memories of what I had done. 

_Thud._

_I force my eyes open, greeted by the darkness of the living room. Blinking slowly, I haul myself up from the floor into a sitting position, wincing at the blurriness that assaults my vision and the dizziness that follows. Scanning the room cautiously, several things jump out at me. For one, the upturned dining chairs, scattered a few metres away from the table - which was no longer neatly polished, but decorated with a multitude of splintered ceramic and shattered glass._

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

_The footsteps grow ever nearer, hand in hand with the feeling of terror that rolls through me like a tsunami. Part of me wonders if this is the last time I'll feel this way. Wonders if this time, I'll succumb to the darkness. Where I stop treading water just to keep my head above to take a breath, only to be dragged back in again within seconds._

_...Silence._

_My blood runs cold; muscles stiffening as adrenaline courses through my veins, mind whirring as I desperately scramble to my feet, a loud throbbing in my left ear - three guesses as to what happened there. My limbs move without direction from my brain, stepping closer and closer to the looming threat as my heart pounds against my ribs in protest. A jagged piece of glass digs into my hands as I hold onto it like a lifeline - at this point, it means everything between life and death for me._

_He pounces, and this is it. No more falling, no more drowning. It's my turn to win._

_I swing with everything I have, every ounce of rage and pain and hurt this monster has burdened me with, every precious bit of energy and power I have left-_

_And this time, it's him who hits the ground._


End file.
